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Back Little Universes Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

I pick up the scissors and I start chopping. Chopping and chopping, waves and waves of my mother’s black hair falling off my head and the tears pour out of me so fast and hard that I can’t see what I’m doing but I still keep cutting until there is no more hair to grab, there is nothing left, just little stubs. As if the wave has come by and torn me up by the roots.

When I’m done, I feel lighter.

So light I could fly away.

41

Mae

ISS Location: Low-Earth Orbit

Earth Date: 16 April

Earth Time (EST): 22:23

Nate lets me into the dorm room he shares with Ben, grabs a duffel bag, and says he’ll see me in the morning. He adds an exaggerated wink and hip shake because he can’t resist.

Ben won’t be back until late, it turns out. Lab, class, study group. Nate doesn’t tell him I’m here. A little surprise, like a bit of outer space in a gift bag.

I put the soup on Ben’s desk, then wander around his side of the room, which is much tidier than Nate’s. I am not surprised by the rock collection on the windowsill, or the meditation cushion. There’s a picture of us pinned to the corkboard above his desk, one Nate took when we were at Castaways. I stare at the girl in the picture, at her huge smile, at the way she looks at the boy. And I think, once again, that I am the dumbest smart person I know.

Ben has a copy of Dad’s book—Dark Diving—on his shelf, and I pull it down. It’s filled with underlining and highlighting, sticky notes. For me. He read this for me. I turn to the back, to Dad’s picture. I remember when Mom took it, how she had him lean into the sunlight just so, how she’d brushed back a lock of his hair and he’d caught her hand and kissed it.

And now there’s Pearl.

I turn to the dedication: For my girls: May you always find light in the darkness.

My eyes fall back to the picture of Ben and me. Maybe that’s what we all are for each other. Little lamps, lighting the way home.

I hold the book against my chest and curl up on Ben’s neatly made bed, with its plaid comforter and very fluffy pillows that smell like him. I open to a part Ben has highlighted and put exclamation signs beside: